


Domestic

by SnappleApple11



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Cooking, Domestic, Female Friendship, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:27:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3445403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnappleApple11/pseuds/SnappleApple11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since when did Emma suddenly know how to bake a souffle? Mary Margaret notices her daughter has been acting more domestic than usual and she's a bit suspicious about how this happened. Takes place after S3 finale but w/o the immediate arrival of the Frozen cast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

For the first several weeks since Neal's birth, friends and neighbors had been steadily dropping off pre-made lunches and dinners for Mary Margaret and David, knowing the pair had their hands full with their newborn son. The meals usually consisted of a large salad or pasta dish, some of which were more creative than others, which could be easily reheated or stored for several days. 

Amidst the endless parade of greenery and carbs, Granny had brought over a weeks worth of frozen lasagna (After the first two days of lasagna as their main meal David had unloaded the remaining pasta on Grumpy and the other dwarfs, who had laughed and warned David of Granny’s wrath if she ever found out he was giving away her food for free), and Regina had even brought several turnovers for dessert one evening (Pear turnovers, not apple. Snow had long since given up on trying to move past her association of apples and sleeping curses). 

Despite having technically resided in Storybrooke for several decades Mary Margaret wasn't entirely sure of the protocol between neighbors and new parents when it came to these pre-made meals. Was she supposed to send out thank you cards or flowers? Did she owe them all favors depending on the amount of food they sent over? 

Snow could easily understand the concept of owing favors for such gifts. After all, magic always came with a price, and even kind-heartedness could only go unrewarded for so long. It was one of the reasons she had been able to survive as a bandit back in the day. For every villager or town that had risked their safety for her she had made a concerted effort to leave them some small gift. Snow hid food behind barrels and left furs as inconspicuously as possible by windows and water wells. In her mind it was the least Snow could do given the lengths many people had gone to for her. Ruby had told her years later that one of the reasons the villagers continued to support and remember Snow was because of small acts like those, which showed how far Snow was willing to go for her people. 

If favors were the proper protocol, she feared being indebted to Granny for the next few decades with all the lasagna that had been dumped on them that they had not eaten all of. 

But they weren’t in the Enchanted Forest, they were in Storybrooke, where their friends had banded together to help them in whatever ways they could. Maybe a favor exchange wasn’t necessarily protocol here, but Mary Margaret was more than grateful for the extra help and knew she would try to find a way to repay everyone anyway.

It also helped having Emma around. The blonde had done more than her fair share to keep the small apartment as tidy as possible and took extra shifts at the sheriff's station so David could spend more time with Neal. She had even cooked dinner several times when the trio had all grown sick of pasta and salad (Again, not that Mary Margaret wasn't grateful to everyone who had brought the food, but a person could only eat so many salads and pasta dishes at a time). 

It was all so wonderful and blissful Mary Margaret almost missed the growing signs of something just a bit off about her daughter’s behavior. 

One day when she and David had come home from a walk with Neal she had heard Emma actually humming one of Neal's lullabies to herself while vacuuming the apartment. 

But that would be crazy. Emma didn't hum. Maybe she had been imagining it. 

She had asked David about it, if he had noticed anything strange or different about their daughter and the way she was acting, but he chalked it up to Emma just wanting to be helpful and busy. Emma was always at her most relaxed when she was busy. She just didn't do well sitting still for long. They knew that. 

She had agreed, and decided to drop it and just be thankful for all the help she and David were getting from everyone, including their eager daughter. 

But Mary Margaret kept noticing extra little things her daughter did that just weren’t quite Emma; Emma cleaning the apartment more than once a week; Emma organizing several Storybrooke citizens with a meal schedule for the first two months of her brother's life; Emma baking a soufflé one afternoon. 

Since when did Emma know how to bake a soufflé?

If Mary Margaret didn't know any better she would say that Emma was acting far more domestic than was normal for her. 

As grateful as Mary Margaret was for her daughter's extra help, surprising domestic skills, and enthusiasm, it was honestly worrying to watch. So one afternoon when Mary Margaret had finished putting Neal down for a nap and walked into the kitchen to find Emma mixing up something decidedly caloric in a bowl, she decided words needed to be had. 

"Emma? What are you doing?" Mary Margaret tried to keep her tone as pleasant as possible but wasn't sure if she succeeded. She didn't want to scare her daughter by being too harsh so quickly but this had been eating at her for weeks and she was worried about this change and just wanted to know what had gotten into Emma. Surely that could be forgiven?

If the look on Emma's face said anything, it was that her mother's tone was not as pleasant as she had hoped it would be. Emma actually seemed surprised at her mother’s sudden appearance in the kitchen. Her head jerked up and shoulders tensed at her mother’s voice, while the hand that had been steadily mixing the bowl’s contents stopped moving abruptly, sloshing some batter onto the countertop. 

Maybe Emma had been more lost in the motions than she had realized and just didn't notice her coming in, Mary Margaret thought.

Emma recovered quickly though, her armor up once again, and she glanced from her mother's face to the bowl in front of her, back to her mother. 

"Baking pear turnovers?" She answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, but to Mary Margaret it sounded just a little too defensive. 

Mary Margaret must have given her daughter a look of some sort, because Emma shifted her weight on her feet and started sheepishly trying to round back her answer to fill in the blanks. 

"David ate the last one yesterday and I know you both like them so I thought I'd make some instead of trying to ask Regina for more, because she's got enough on her plate just being her, and I don't think she'd be too happy if I asked for more food from her and will you just stop giving me that, that 'mom' look?" She spoke quickly, not quite rushed, but fast enough that she clearly didn't like having to explain herself. Emma turned her attention back to the mixing bowl in front of her with fervor, bits of the contents spilling out of the bowl and decorating the counter further. 

It occurred to Mary Margaret that Emma would probably insist on cleaning that up herself, given her habits as of late.

"A 'mom' look?" 

"Yeah, that thing Granny does to Ruby and supposedly Regina and I both do to Henry. You're doing it." Emma said without looking up from the bowl that was now being mixed a little too eagerly. 

Mary Margaret took a breath in understanding at Emma’s comment. 

Whenever Red gave an answer that left too much unsaid Granny would stare her down with a single, silent, disapproving stare that all but forced a rushed explanation from the brunette. It was like watching the silent interrogation of a child with their hand in the cookie jar. As a bystander it was always a bit uncomfortable to be around, but now Mary Margaret had a 'mom' look too? 

Now she just felt guilty. 

Mary Margaret hated making her daughter uncomfortable. She didn't feel like she got to be a mother to Emma very often so whenever she knew Emma was unhappy or annoyed because of her it always hurt. She was still learning how to properly handle times where Emma was upset or defensive, something that would have surely been easier if they had spent more than three years together as a family. As if she needed another reminder she had missed watching Emma grow up.

Now that she thought about it, Emma had been so involved in her baking that she didn't notice Mary Margaret coming in at all, interrupting what was an otherwise peaceful moment for her daughter. Emma rarely had those moments with her role as Savior. She hardly ever let her guard down that much, hardly ever let herself be so absorbed in something that she forgot to be watchful and wary, and Mary Margaret felt the guilt build up inside of her for taking that small moment of calm from Emma. 

She hadn't planned on sounding terse with Emma, or giving any 'mom' look, but she was worried and just wanted answers about her behavior the past few weeks. 

"Emma, I didn't mean to sound... It's just, well, I don't want to sound rude or ungrateful or anything. I love that you've been helping out around the apartment and at the station: the extra shifts, the cleaning and cooking, and just looking after everything. You have no idea how much it means to me and your father and we can't thank you enough." She paused, trying to form the words delicately in her mind before she spoke them. "The thing I don't understand though..."

Mary Margaret watched Emma for any more nervous movements. Whether Emma realized it or not she was very expressive. Not so much in her face, but in her body language. Emma had once explained to her mother that her years in the foster system had taught Emma to guard herself emotionally and always be watchful of other people's intentions towards her, especially through watching their body language. But if Mary Margaret had gleaned anything from her three years getting to know her daughter, it was that Emma didn't fully realize she was just as expressive as the people she was guarding herself from. And the way Emma held the mixing bowl a tiny bit closer to her body and seemed to lean backwards away from Mary Margaret was blatantly defensive and nervous. 

Mary Margaret also knew that the more time she spent analyzing the best way to phrase her question, the more skittish Emma would get. This wasn’t a life-threatening crisis or curse, so why was this so hard to ask?

To Hell with it then. 

"When did you learn to bake?"

That caught Emma off guard. Green eyes widened a fraction before narrowing in confusion. Her mixing stopped entirely but she still held the bowl close, using it almost as a barrier between herself and her mother. 

"What do you mean?" Emma asked. She didn't seem suspicious but she wasn't being outright forthcoming either. 

"When it was just the two of us living here, before the first curse was broken, I don't think I ever saw you use the kitchen for anything other than coffee and toast?"

Emma's eyes slid sideways, recalling their time together before the memories had returned, before they were Snow White and the Savior, a mother and daughter. When they had just been Mary Margaret Blanchard and Emma Swan, unlikely friends and roommates. 

Emma shrugged her shoulders carelessly, seeming a little more at ease. "I don't know. Maybe it's having Neal here, or maybe its everyone bringing all this food and me not wanting to eat pasta every night." Mary Margaret chuckled at that. What did Hook always say about them? Like mother like daughter? 

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with it Emma,” Mary Margaret tried to reassure her daughter, shaking her hands in front of her before leaning on the counter between them. “I just noticed lately you've been awfully domestic and really attentive and I wanted to know what brought it all on. Between all the cooking and baking and organizing and that dinner from last week, what was that? That fish thing?"

"Poached salmon," She responded nonchalantly, the fingers of one hand drumming casually on the side of the bowl. Mary Margaret caught a glimmer in her green eyes that showed Emma took more pride in that dish than she was probably willing to admit. "I've made that before for you guys. Remember when Henry and I first got back from New York and he didn't remember who everyone was? We had that potluck thing with Regina so she could see Henry without it seeming weird. You made mashed potatoes and I did the salmon and Regina brought… The turnovers..." She trailed off, eyes glazing over in deep thought. 

Mary Margaret watched her daughter’s face, eager to learn her expressions. Her eyes were downward, staring into nothing but focused nonetheless. Emma was clearly coming to some sort of realization and Mary Margaret was happy to give her the time she needed to do so, so she stayed quiet and waited patiently for her daughter to say something. 

She didn’t have to wait long, because several moments later Emma’s eyes were filled with a sudden clarity.

“Regina,” The blonde said simply. 

Emma moved her gaze to the mixing bowl still resting in her arms and stared at it for a moment, as though she had forgotten it was there. Her eyes narrowed and all at once she pushed it onto the counter as if it had burned her. Emma moved her arms stiffly by her sides and her shoulders tensed up again, but the movement didn’t bother Mary Margaret like earlier since she was sure this time it wasn’t done out of anything she did personally. 

"Regina?" Mary Margaret prompted, leaning forward on the counter and hoping for more answers. Honestly, sometimes getting answers from Emma was so easy and other times it was like pulling teeth. 

"Regina." 

Mary Margaret waited for her daughter to elaborate further, but when she was met with continued silence she tried to put on her best 'mom' look to incite some more information. 

It did nothing but make Emma chuckle, relaxing her shoulders and posture. At least she didn’t look quite so uncomfortable anymore. 

"Are you actually trying to use the 'mom' look now? I'm sorry, but I don't think it works when you're trying to use it deliberately. It's gotta be subconscious or something, cause that just looks constipated."

Mary Margaret bristled at that.

"Well, what about Regina?"

"I don't know exactly,” Emma said, the fingers of one hand pushing the bowl away from her in little taps as though it were a small pet she was prodding away from her with a stick. “I think she did something before Henry and I left for New York from Pan's curse. Something about my memories or whatever. Cause you're right, I don't remember really using the kitchen when I first came here, but in New York and since then I'm totally comfortable. I somehow just know all of these recipes for things I apparently didn’t realize I never knew before, like the poached salmon and I guess pear turnovers too. I bet I could tell apart all those fancy dinner spoons and salad forks and cups, actually."

Mary Margaret lifted her eyebrows at her daughter. 

"You think Regina gave you memories of domestic skills and etiquette?"

"I don't know, maybe? I’m not totally sure about the etiquette stuff, but I guess. Anything’s possible, right?"

A moment of silence passed, neither women quite sure what to do with this realization. Did they call Regina and question her about the implanted memories? Did they leave it be? There wouldn’t be any negative consequences to these implanted memories and behaviors, would there?

Mary Margaret broke the silence first, nodding her head as she spoke.

"I should thank her."

"Seriously?!"

Mary Margaret threw her hands up defensively. “As your mother I’m just happy you and Henry aren’t eating take out every night. A home cooked meal is good for you and it’s just a nice thing to come back to. Besides, that salmon from last week was really good. You don’t think you could make it again, do you?”

With that Mary Margaret picked up her phone and dialed a phone number that was becoming increasingly familiar. Maybe she would invite Regina over for a cook-off or family dinner. She would let Regina and Emma duke it out in the kitchen and the rest of them could reap the delicious benefits of their culinary talents. 

“Hi Regina. It’s Mary Margaret. Listen, I just had something I wanted to ask you…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, the whole idea behind this little ficlet was that eating out in a city like New York is time consuming and expensive no matter where in NYC you live, and doing so for any long-term amount of time is mildly inconceivable. So how would Emma have coped with that while raising Henry and with her false memories of having raised Henry for his whole life? My answer? Regina might have spiced up her memories a bit.

“Hi Regina. It’s Mary Margaret. Listen, I just had something I wanted to ask you…”

Mary Margaret could practically hear her stepmother rolling her eyes over the phone. It was almost as loud as Emma’s continued scowling behind the counter. 

“If this is about asking for more of Henry’s old baby toys you’re going to have to send your husband over to get them because I’m not carrying another load of stuffed animals up those stairs. Besides, I think-” Regina paused abruptly for a moment, her voice softer when she spoke again. “I think Roland’s gotten attached to one of the stuffed monkeys.”

Mary Margaret laughed lightly at the image and it’s implications. “No, this is something else. Emma seems to think when you gave her those false memories after Pan’s curse that you may have embellished them a bit. Maybe when it comes to certain domestic and culinary talents and tendencies?” She tried to keep her tone light, she really did. Mary Margaret didn’t want a repeat of the awkward defensiveness she’d seen in her daughter only minutes before. 

Regina was quiet on the other end of the line, and even though Mary Margaret couldn’t hear so much as a puff of breathe from the other woman she knew she was still there. Just like she knew from the continued silence that Regina had in fact given Emma those memories. 

“Why do you ask?” And there were the walls going up, brick by brick. Clearly Mary Margaret was going to have to figure out some new way of talking gently to people if all she ever managed to do was make everyone she talked to today suspicious. 

It was a sad commonality she’d noticed between her daughter and stepmother that both were quick to defensiveness when they felt at all threatened. Their lives till now hadn’t exactly given them much choice to be anything else, but Mary Margaret hoped that could change over time now that they’d each started new relationships, Regina with Robin and Emma with Hook (Somehow the notion of Regina dating was less odd to Snow than her own daughter dating. She had no problem with Hook; he’d proven himself time and again. Maybe it was something that came with being a mother, like the ‘mom’ look?).

“It’s nothing bad! I promise! I actually wanted to say thank you.” 

Those must have been the magic words because Regina’s voice on the other end of the phone nearly cracked in disbelief. 

“I’m sorry?”

Emma chose that exact moment to decide she was fed up with the idea of people being grateful someone had magically imbued her with knowledge of a kitchen. “You know, I suddenly feel like getting take out, so I’m just gonna go somewhere people make food for me,” Emma declared, grabbing her leather coat off the rack, the turnover batter laying forgotten on counter. 

“Wait a sec, Emma! Where are you going?” But Emma didn’t so much as turn around, instead waltzing out the door in a huff and angrily forcing her arms through the sleeves. Mary Margaret watched from the window as her daughter left the apartment building to walk down the street towards the town center. Emma’s shoulders were pulled up in irritation and there was an angry jaunt to her step that reminded Mary Margaret almost of a child stomping in frustration at having her favorite toy taken from her (Maybe she ought to ask Dr. Hopper if all these motherly comparisons were actually normal. After all, it was one thing to imagine an infant as cute yet pouty, but her grown daughter was something else entirely). 

At least Emma didn’t slam the door shut. The last thing Mary Margaret wanted was for her son to wake up from his nap so quickly.

“Am I to assume Ms. Swan isn’t particularly grateful for these new skills?”

“So you heard that?” Mary Margaret sighed and rubbed her fingers against her forehead. “Um, yeah, I would say so.”

“Am I also to assume you want me to talk to her, face to face? Maybe reassure her that knowing her way around a kitchen won’t somehow put her role as Savior at risk?”

“I don’t know if that’s quite what’s bothering her, but yes? I think? It might have more to do with not knowing she’d been magically gifted with something she was actually starting to enjoy. I’d almost say she feels a little, I don’t know, betrayed?”

Regina let out a heavy breath that echoed over the phone. Mary Margaret imagined the other woman was mulling the whole thing over in her head, trying to plan the encounter ahead of time and find some way to diffuse the situation before it got worse. 

Emma may have been given false memories of raising Henry, but between the three women, only Regina had actually raised a child. Henry may not have been hers by blood, but she had been there for every fever, dirty diaper, and temper tantrum the boy may have had growing up. Compared to Emma and Mary Margaret, she was simply the most experienced mother of the three. If anyone could talk Emma down and reassure her right now, it would be Regina. 

Just another way Mary Margaret was realizing she had failed Emma as a mother. 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Mary Margaret let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Thank you Regina. You don’t know how much this means to me-”

“I said I’d see what I can do. That doesn’t mean you need to write me an ode or what not.”

“Right, of course. I saw her walk downtown so wherever she went-” 

“Two guesses where she went, and since one of those guesses is out on some stolen boat sailing with my son for the afternoon, I would say she went to-”

“Granny’s.” Mary Margaret felt the corners of her mouth turn upwards; somehow proud she had managed to say the punch line before Regina.

She heard Regina make a sound under her breath that sounded like an underhanded snort. “No need to interrupt, it’s rude, but yes, Granny’s. I’ll head there now.”

The monotonous dial tone that suddenly filled Mary Margaret’s ear told her the conversation had ended. She hung the phone back up and paced the room for several moments. 

She really ought to take a nap herself. Neal was still waking up every couple of hours throughout the night for various reasons, whether it was for a feeding, he was cranky, or he didn’t like where he’d been set down in his crib. She would need her rest. 

But Mary Margaret was too worked up to entertain the thought of an afternoon nap for herself. When it came to Emma it was only too easy for Mary Margaret to let herself be consumed by guilt for not knowing enough about her daughter and just not being there for her. For not having had the time to learn her expressions, her likes and dislikes, the best way to get her to open up about anything that was bothering her. It hurt more than she liked to admit, and she could already admit to herself that it hurt a lot. 

But she was trying to take the time now, even with the arrival of her newborn son, and she relished every moment she had. Every little moment she spent with her daughter was another lesson and another blessing in her eyes. And for those times she didn’t know yet how to approach her daughter there was always someone in Storybrooke who had an experience or an idea that would help. Whether it was Regina reprising her role as a mother, or friends and neighbors sending over weeks worth of pasta and salads for her and David, everyone in Storybrooke was willing to help when needed. 

Maybe that was the proper protocol for neighbors sharing food; to just be there for each other when times got tough. 

Snow could happily live with that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Part three! And it’s Regina’s POV this time. Additional inspiration for the end of this ficlet came from Marcie Gore. Just to be clear, this is NOT a swan queen fic. There’s established outlaw queen and captain swan, but otherwise it’s more about the friendship and understanding between Emma, Mary Margaret, and Regina. If you want to read it as swan queen, go for your life, but remember that this isn’t intended to be a romantic fic. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Please read and review

It took twenty minutes for Regina to make her way to Granny’s diner on foot after getting off the phone with Snow. Twenty minutes on what would have been an otherwise picturesque autumn day. But instead of enjoying the day hiking with Robin in the woods she was going to be spending it indoors in the watering hole that was Granny’s, convincing the Savior that despite the inclusion of a few extra, possibly conflicting memories, she was still Emma Swan. 

By the time Regina opened the diner door, Emma was already seething in a booth alone in the corner. It was the middle of the afternoon and the diner was almost entirely empty, save for Granny standing behind the counter and one of the dwarfs (Sneezy? Dreary? Regina couldn’t be bothered to keep them straight) talking to the older woman from the barstool. Regina noted that the blonde hadn’t bothered to take off her ridiculous red leather jacket and was staring daggers at a steaming cup of untouched hot chocolate in front of her. Her arms were securely folded close to her chest, in a physical embodiment of the wall Regina would have to break down if she wanted to get Emma talking. 

She sauntered over to the booth and stood at its end, waiting for the blonde to verbally acknowledge her presence and invite her to sit. Regina knew Emma had heard her come into the diner, the damn door was more than loud enough with its bells and creaking to ensure that, but even outside the Enchanted Forest Regina still felt a little compelled to obey certain social protocols, and that included waiting for an invitation or acknowledgement before being seated and diving into any serious business. The queen had manners, unlike the pirate, who seemed to push his way into tables and conversations without preamble. Not to mention an invitation from Emma would keep Regina in her good grace’s for the start of their talk. 

Regina didn’t have to wait long for the savior to notice her, but Emma didn’t lift her eyes toward the brunette, instead continuing to glare at the hot chocolate as though it were the source of all her problems. 

“Mary Margaret sent you.” It wasn’t a question. The statement was spoken with a seething resentment that practically vibrated the air around them. Anger and confusion were rolling off the blonde in waves and Regina was half surprised that the mug in front of her hadn’t blown up yet from the energy. Magic was fueled by emotion, and if the mug hadn’t exploded yet then obviously even someone as untrained in magic as Emma couldn’t be that angry, even if she did seem liable to snap in an instant. 

“Your mother did, yes.”

Emma closed her eyes and took several calming breaths, the anger around her lessening as she did. Maybe there was some hope yet for a civil conversation, Regina thought.

“I’m not in the mood Regina.” 

“I wasn’t going to wait for you to get in the mood. May I sit, or do I have to stand to have a word?” Regina would wait for the initial invitation but after that all bets were off. There was only so much time a person could spend waiting for social protocol to catch up. 

Green eyes finally rose to meet chocolate brown, staring for a long moment before Emma shrugged her shoulders and nodded her head towards the other side of the booth. Her gesture was nonchalant but she was still pressed against the back of the booth and her arms were still shielded in front of her, defensive and tight. 

Regina slid gracefully into bench opposite Emma, back straight and hands folded on the table between them. 

“So,” The queen started slowly, “Your memories from New York are-”

“Ok, seriously, what the hell?” Emma exploded at Regina, who couldn’t quite keep from flinching in surprise at the blonde’s sudden but inevitable outburst. The queen stole a glance at the other two diner patrons, who had been equally startled into silence. Emma’s arms were still clenched around her but her face was open and angry beyond reproach, an open book to the inner turmoil bubbling inside her. 

“Why do I feel like I’m turning into a magical Martha Stewart and how do I stop it?” Regina resisted the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes. Of course Emma would want the memories gone. How typical of the savior to want to run away from a gift before it might hurt her in some real or imagined slight. 

“They’re memories, Ms. Swan, not a poison. And unless you want to risk losing all of your memories I’d strongly suggest avoiding any memory potions or other nonsense I’m sure you’ll try and cook up. This is not something to be dealt with alone.”

Emma looked less than pleased with this response, and Regina gave in, rolling her eyes at the blonde, before continuing. 

“The memories I gave you after Pan’s curse are as much a part of you now as the cursed memories of everyone else in this town. You’re just part of the club now I suppose, so welcome, finally.” Regina waved one hand in a sarcastic gesture and waited for Emma to absorb her words. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to spell it out too simply for the blonde to understand. She liked to believe that the savior was at least somewhat intelligent to have survived living in Storybrooke under Regina’s reign during the first curse. 

Her words seemed to do the trick. Emma’s eyes shifted sideways in thought and then glazed over. Her lips pressed together in a thin line and the expression that came over her features after a minute was one of guilt and frustration. Regina recognized it only too well from her own reflection. 

“Jefferson was right,” She said to herself, eyes still shifted sideways.

The hatter? Regina had to take a moment to remember the circumstances of the mad hatter’s life before and during the curse, hoping it would give her some insight into the savior’s current state of mind. Whatever his life had been couldn’t have been pleasant for the man; after all, at the time the queen had been so against happy endings in any form that she was only too eager to separate families and loved ones in the hopes of achieving her ends and dulling the ache in her heart. As she recalled, the hatter’s curse life had to do with watching his daughter be raised by another family. She remembered using the man’s unique transportation services infrequently during the curse, which of course required him to have his memories of-

Oh. 

Realization hit Regina hard and she fought back the urge to audibly acknowledge it somehow. Instead she pursed her lips slightly and silently, letting Emma continue to speak and form her thoughts regarding the man out loud. 

“Before I broke the first curse he tried to get me to understand. He tried and I thought he was nuts but now what he was saying makes sense and I just-” She paused, pulling her arms more tightly around herself, if that was even possible, and finally turning her gaze back to Regina.

“He remembered his life here in Storybrooke in that big empty house,” Emma started again, her voice somehow sad. “But he also remembered his life in the Enchanted Forest with his daughter. Two completely different lives in two insanely different worlds and he was the only one who remembered them both. No one else could remember anything because of the curse and I was supposed to help him but I didn’t. I didn’t get how painful it was, trying to reconcile two lives in your head. Now I have memories of a life that never really happened, of things I never did, would probably never have done. They’re my memories but they’re not me. Does that make sense?”

It was a rare moment of vulnerability where Regina got to see the scared orphan Emma had once been, the one so desperately clinging to the idea of something as sweet sounding as love or affection but unwilling to trust it with her weight after being let down one time too many. Her eyes were wider; green pools bright and frantically searching Regina’s brown orbs for some kind of reassurance but still wary of the other woman and whatever she might say. Even in this moment of openness, Emma’s armor was still shielding her from the world in the form of her red leather jacket encasing her, and her arms holding her body so tightly Regina had to wonder how she hadn’t crushed herself yet with the force. 

But it wasn’t just armor, was it? Regina noted how the younger woman’s arms were wrapped around her in a way that seemed to shrink her into the back of the booth, as though she were trying to vanish from Regina’s gaze entirely. Her shoulders were less proud than usual, her posture less straight. In this moment she wasn’t the brave and heroic savior, she was the scared little girl who just wanted someone to listen to her and tell her everything would be all right. 

If Regina thought about it, it was almost like seeing Henry when he was scared and needed reassuring after a childhood nightmare. Back then, she would make him hot chocolate with cinnamon or she would sit with her son and sometimes just hold him until he fell back asleep. At the memory, Regina’s gaze softened toward the younger woman, realizing exactly what needed to be said. 

“It makes perfect sense Ms. Swan. And as I said, this is not something to be dealt with alone.”

The orphan was still there in Emma’s eyes, scared to trust but hopeful that this might be the time to do so. When she didn’t speak right away, Regina took it as a sign to continue. 

“Why do you think everyone was scrambling so much to find their old families and lives after the curse? It wasn’t just to see people again; it was to come to terms with their own memories. Compare them to the memories of people who knew their old lives so they could try and sort through everything and make sense of it all. Look at Snow. In the Enchanted Forest your mother was a bandit, she was conniving, and, if I’m being honest, a force to be reckoned with. But here, she was this timid, shy-”

“Top button kind of girl?” Emma offered, the corner of her lips turning upwards in a secret smile of some long ago memory.

Regina shot Emma an exasperated stare in irritation at being interrupted once again. 

“The point is, Ms. Swan, now that you’ve seen her before and after the curse, wouldn’t you say your mother’s a little bit of both of them? She uses her memories from the Enchanted Forest as her primary memories but Snow White and Mary Margaret Blanchard are two parts of the same person. She uses her curse memories to almost, oh, I don’t know exactly, improve herself, I suppose? Develop herself? She can’t discard who she was during the curse but instead of fighting it she takes the best of those traits and makes them her own. I’ve noticed she’s a little more patient now then she was back then, and she’s finally learning to hold her tongue a bit better too.”

Emma shook her head, something still bothering her.

“It’s not just that there are two sets of memories Regina. I think I can understand that, having two sets of experiences to pull from. That would be totally fine if I thought my memories were entirely mine, but they aren’t are they? They’re yours.” The orphan was pulling back from Emma’s eyes, slowly being replaced by something more accusing and stubborn. It was almost like seeing what might have become of Henry had he grown up in the foster system as Emma did, without a stable home or notion of what family could be. 

“All the baking and homey touches, that’s all you. When Mary Margaret brought it up earlier I almost thought it was just a leftover false memory from raising Henry in New York but it’s more than that. Those were your recipes I was baking, your fruit turnovers and soufflés and poached salmon.” Emma’s voice rose steadily with a false sense of conviction and Regina could feel her breath coming quicker as she tried to maintain composure. She couldn’t let the savior get a rise out of her so easily, but damn if the blonde wasn’t already getting under her skin. 

“What were trying to do, Regina? Turn me into you? I never used to cook anything more complicated than toast and suddenly it’s like I need my own cooking show. And if you could change that much then what else did you change about me?”

Regina had heard enough, and she let her voice ring out as loudly as the savior’s. “Can you honestly blame me for wanting Henry to live off of more than just pizza and take out? Do remember, Ms. Swan, that at the time we all believed we’d never see you two again. I just wanted what was best for my son, and that includes a partly edible diet.” She knew her voice had hardened and she was being defensive but she was trying to make a point to the savior, and right now that couldn’t be done with soft-spoken words. 

“By turning me into some clone of you?!” 

“By keeping a piece of me close to my son!” And there it was. Her true reason for giving the savior the memories she had. 

The expression on Emma’s face was gob smacked and if Regina hadn’t been so worked up she might have enjoyed the gaping fish mouth and wide eyes. Instead, she felt compelled to keep going, maybe not to justify herself per se but to shed some light on everything. The savior needed to remember that they were both Henry’s mothers, they both loved him unconditionally in their own ways, and they both only wanted what was best for him. 

“You may think I was forcing myself on you but I gave you those memories for Henry’s sake. I showed you what his favorite desserts are, what I cooked him for holiday dinners and weekend breakfasts. Even if he never remembered that he likes his pancakes with syrup but no butter because the first time I made them for him I didn’t have enough butter in the house, it would have made him just a little happier and that was enough for me.” Regina’s hands were clenched in front of her and she was fairly certain her shoulders were shaking. 

The stubbornness in Emma’s eyes was fast fading into sympathy, her arms loosening their death grip as the fight left her. Green eyes gazed, understanding, at the queen for several moments before narrowing and drifting sideways, contemplative and lost in thought. 

Regina shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she fought to slow her breathing. She fidgeted her fingers, suddenly ill at ease with the savior’s continued silence. She had just bared a part of her soul, the least the blonde could do was say something about it, anything at all. 

“As much as I enjoy the idea of striking you into silence, right now I’d rather you say something,” Regina noted. Her voice was more controlled than she would have given herself credit for and for that she was glad. 

“I remember that.” Emma’s voice was distant. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Running out of butter to put on top of the pancakes. I remember that. We were still in Boston, Henry was three, I think, and I’d never made pancakes before but I used too much butter in the pan and there wasn’t any left for toppings.” Emma’s voice was slightly breathless, still lost in the memory.

A sinking feeling settled in Regina’s stomach as she realized that was exactly what had happened when she had made pancakes for the first time for a three-year-old Henry. “And did you try to ask for more from your neighbors?” She questioned cautiously, afraid of the inevitable answer. 

“No, I didn’t want to seem like I couldn’t handle myself. Asking for help back then would’ve been like-”

“-Admitting defeat,” They said together, eyes locked in shock and mutual, silent epiphany. 

Regina knew she had to be the one to break the silence, to try and backtrack and explain that she never intended on giving Emma memories so closely resembling her own. That she’d only intended on giving the savior any knowledge that might be helpful in caring for Henry, his favorite foods, bedtime stories, daily habits and nuances. 

Now Emma was going think that Regina really was making her into a magical clone. 

“I swear, I had no idea that- I mean I never intended for-”

“It’s ok.” Well that certainly wasn’t the reaction she’d been expecting. When it came to their son, Regina and Emma knew they could both go a little overboard, and although they disagreed on some of the finer points of his home life, they both loved Henry beyond all else. So Emma’s sudden calm to the realization she now held magically altered versions of Regina’s own memories was a surprise. Regina had half-expected the savior to blow a gasket, or at least the mug of hot chocolate, accusing the queen of some magical foul play. Maybe even to storm out of the diner in an explosion of threats and unhinged magic. 

“It’s really ok. You didn’t realize all of what you did at the time but you were doing it for Henry. I get it.” The blonde didn’t sound particularly comforted with her own answer and Regina knew she would need to reassure the savior further, but how?

Emma’s gaze shifted around the room awkwardly, from the counter to the forgotten hot chocolate to anywhere but Regina. Her grip on her leather coat had slackened and her fingers moved absently on the sleeves, rubbing them in silent comfort. 

Truthfully, there were times Regina thought the pirate and savior had bonded over their apparent mutual love of leather coats. Someday they might actually buy themselves matching jackets and then surely the world would finally end. 

Leather.

That could work, Regina decided. 

“Tell me, Ms. Swan, did you start wearing pantsuits in New York? Or since you’ve come back?” Green eyes tightened and moved back toward the queen.

“No?” She answered slowly, wary. 

“And did you stay in the same, unfortunate, line of work in bail bonds while in New York?” Regina pressed. 

“Well, yeah, but-”

“And you’re still wearing that ridiculous red leather jacket all the time?”

Emma wrinkled her nose at that. Her hands moved to rub her leather-clad arms, as though the jacket were a living thing insulted by the queen’s disregard for it.

“How’s it ridiculous? I like this jacket.”

“My point exactly. A few contextually altered memories aren’t going to magically turn you into me. You are no one other than yourself, no matter how much I wish I could miraculously give you a sense of fashion.”

That seemed to give the savior reason to pause for thought. Her mind working through everything Regina had said. 

“Does this mean I have to start baking for school PTA meetings now? Cause I was kind of glad to have avoided that here.”

Regina couldn’t help chuckling at that. It wasn’t often the savior made her genuinely laugh, but at the very least it meant the storm had passed and hopefully they could move forward. 

They spent the next few hours questioning each other on the context of their memories from Henry’s childhood. Townspeople milled in and out of the diner, throwing curious glances at the pair still sitting in the corner booth, laughing and smiling in a way many would have deemed impossible between the savior and evil queen. 

But the two paid them all no attention.

There was so much for them to talk about, so many memories for them to relive. Regina’s memories may have been the true ones, but Emma’s had some arguably more entertaining facets. One of Emma’s favorite memories of Henry as a toddler in Boston was of her son chasing after ducks in the Boston public gardens with scraps of bread, only to fall headlong into the pond where Emma had to fish him out. There had been cheers and catcalls from passersby and a kindly woman with a spare towel and a sharp tongue. According to Regina, that had happened in Storybrooke too, but at the local pond and with no witnesses to Regina wading through the murky water in her pantsuit after Henry. 

That image alone had brought a fresh round of laughter to the pair, raucous and louder than either could remember letting out in a long time. 

It must have been a lot to take in, Regina decided, two lives in your head and only one of them actually your own. Even worse, the details of the other life may have been different but the basics were still real. Emma would likely be sifting through the truth and falsities of those given memories for years to come, trying to decipher what had actually happened and what was just a matter of context. 

Regina reasoned that in some ways it was actually a blessing in disguise, or a cruel taunt depending on the viewpoint. Emma wasn’t there for Henry’s childhood, but through the false memories she at least had some notion as to what happened. It wasn’t something she could particularly bond over with her son, but she could at least be in the loop when Henry mentioned something from before her arrival in Storybrooke. 

By the time either had the wherewithal to actually look at a clock, the untouched hot chocolate had gone cold between them and the diner had crowded with townspeople eager for dinner. Emma sheepishly confessed that at breakfast she had promised Mary Margaret and David that she would make them dinner so they didn’t have to sit through more pasta dishes, and that she had started baking pear turnovers earlier that afternoon for dessert.

“Your recipe,” She admitted, sliding out of the booth, “It’s kind of what sent me here after I realized that it was, well you know.” Her arms had long since dropped from their death grip around herself, and now hung comfortably by her sides.

Regina cracked another smile, before moving out of the booth herself. “I understand,” She added. 

Emma’s face was suddenly thoughtful, and before the queen could turn to leave the diner Emma was rushing through her next words. “Hey Regina, thank you, for this afternoon and all of…” Her hands gestured vaguely around her head, unsure how to phrase just what she was thankful to the other woman for. 

Regina understood anyway, and gave the blonde a small smile. “You’re welcome, Ms. Swan.” And with that, Regina was ready to head back to her house alone, but was stopped again by the savior. 

“Wanna come with? Between the two of us we could cook something really good and then scare Henry with crazy childhood stories.”

Regina paused, taken aback. Her mind wandered back to something Gold had once told her what felt like ages before (“Maybe one day, they’ll even invite you for dinner.”) and her smile grew. Maybe that day had finally come.

“Sure. Why not.”


End file.
